


Judgement

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 08:32:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: A rough mission and just as rough an aftermath for Garrison and the others.  After it was all over, they discussed it - the concept of judgement.  Patrick had nodded and in his turn, recounted a story told by their mother, and the moral attached:"Judgement is a tricky thing, my children, as you will see.  Understand, your actions WILL be judged; that is the way of things.  Therefore, it is of grave importance to remember certain things that will guide you:.Do not allow fear of judgement keep you from action when action is needed..Be sure you base your actions on precepts you yourself honor and respect..Be willing to stand by your actions when you are called to judgement by the Clan, not wail like a child and protest "I did not know" or "I did not understand"..Be willing to accept when fair judgement is called down to you by the Clan, knowing that is the price for being free to choose.This, of course, returns you to the beginning - do not allow fear of judgement keep you from action when action is needed.  There are other considerations, yes, but these form the framework you will need to go forward."(Felane O'Donnell recounting one of the many stories of 'Medara ru Dragan')





	Judgement

**Author's Note:**

> War years. This story, or the bare bones of it, was gathering dust in my journals til I rediscovered it recently and decided it deserved to be completed.

The Allies had been watching Dr. Van Hulsting for quite some time. Well, so had Clan O'Donnell, though perhaps for slightly different reasons. After months of getting close enough to get some fragment of information, some trace of eyewitness accounts, even, once, in the case of the Clan, the retrieval of the close-to-death victim of Van Hulsting's experiments, finally Van Hulsting seemed to have settled in one spot for more than just a few days at a time. That was good. What WASN'T good was the location - an interconnecting series of caves and tunnels in the Jura Mountains in France, not an easy place to get to, or to infiltrate. 

A couple of odd tips, some radio chatter had led them there, Garrison's team, along with Meghada O'Donnell, and Alex Ainsley's team, accompanied by Ciena and Patrick O'Donnell. Meghada had argued for a team from the Clan, instead of a second Allied unit, not out of disrespect for Ainsley and his men, but to be sure the Clan had equal say in the outcome. The Clan's level of trust in the Allies' intentions regarding Van Hulsting's appalling research project was minimal; as far as the Clan was concerned, the goal was to destroy the man, those who supported him, and anything that would let someone ELSE duplicate his work. They had rather dark suspicions of the Allied goals, thinking they might be intending to retrieve, then weaponize Van Hulsting's research. Well, the Clan wasn't the most trusting, nor the Allies the most reliable of allies, as had been proven time and time again. The only thing the Clan was interested in, other than that destruction of the abomination that encompassed Van Hulsting and his son and their work, was to grab anything that might advance the development of an antidote, since it was known that Van Hulsting had left deposits of his serum in more than one spot. Still, when that notion was rejected, she shrugged and went along, accepting the compromise of having two Clan members attached to that second unit. The Clan would not set aside its long term goal, but would take it in stages if necessary.

Oddly enough, or maybe not, considering the number of double, even triple agents running around these days, one of those tips had led to a trap, a trap that led Garrison and his team, along with Len Briggs from Ainsley's team, securely into the hands of Van Hulsting's security forces. They'd been crammed in through a metal gate, into an enclosure shaped rather like an uneven barbell, two roundish open spaces joined by a short narrow stretch of tunnel. The end nearest that gate, a gate set into a larger system of metal bars set firmly into the rock on all sides, was small, only big enough to hold two men comfortably, three at a real squeeze. That made it ideal for use for prisoner containment, since a group of men so incarcerated wouldn't be able to rush the guards when the gate was open. So it was that determined that a rotating shift of two would stay there, to be able to warn the others of the approach of the enemy. Hopefully it wouldn't be long before help arrived. Garrison had signaled to Meghada to trigger the beacon, along with the warning signal, letting Ainsley know they had located the target, but were in trouble, and giving them a way to locate the team. 

Allowing Actor to patch up the bullet graze to his left arm, Garrison dropped his head to his knees for just a moment, thinking. He knew there could be listening devices close at hand; hell, even the air vents in the ceiling could have a listener at the other end. Now, carefully, he gave each man the hand signal for 'quiet', 'wait', followed by the one for 'stall', motioning Chief to deliver the same message to Casino and Meghada who were keeping watch at the gate. Eventully, when the time rolled around, he and Actor exchanged places with those two, and eventually, Goniff and Briggs would take THEIR places. It had just been a fluke, Briggs having just delivered a message from Ainsley when they were ambushed, getting snatched up right along with them. 

Goniff and Briggs were at the front of that long hallway, close to the metal gate separating them from the rest of the facility. There wasn't room for more than maybe two of them - hell, Casino and Actor would have had trouble sharing the space in any comfort - and the others were at the bigger area at the rear of that hallway, nursing their various injuries. There was an air vent right overhead, and toward the end of their watch, the faint whisper of voices became closer, now more audible, understandable to anyone who spoke German.

Well, he didn't, not really. Oh, he knew a few words and phrases but his delivery was abominable, even to his own ear. He'd be the first to admit his language skills weren't that strong, either in German, French or Italian; there were those who told him they weren't all that great in English, either.

Still, it had been a long war, and even if he couldn't wrap his tongue around the words, he'd learned more than he'd ever thought possible. Now, overhearing words, phrases he shouldn't have been able to understand, he'd understood enough, thought quickly about what he'd heard, not just from that air vent, but from Garrison earlier, about needing to delay, stall, that help was on the way. Thought about Garrison and Chief, hell, any of the others being taken away to face who knows what. 

Now, focused entirely on that vent, he listened to the two men, motioning Briggs to silence with a quick upraised hand. That got him a frown and raised brows, the Cockney never seeming to be one for giving orders or taking command. Still, he complied, and listened to those voices as well; Briggs, after all, DID speak and understand German, quite well, in fact. 

"The woman is tempting, of course, but hardly a valid subject for the experiments; the female mind is too weak to fight the serum, so it would prove little. Besides, it is easy enough to terrify a woman without using such means. No, it must be one of the others; the question is, with whom do we start? The leader, now, he would be a challenge, certainly; I doubt the preliminary weakening of his body would break him, but it would be most interesting to see how one of such strong control would react to the onset of the fear, the paranoia. But, there are theories, you know, about the aborigines, the primitives, how they respond to such. The young one is of that type. That would be interesting, yes? The Italian? He is simply too big, there is too much bulk; we have seen how that negatively affects the experiments. The others, well, they would be amusing, of course, and we might learn a considerable amount, but those two, ah, they would be most rewarding."

The younger voice had protested, urging toward the female, only to be sharply rebuked. "Ack, Hans! You forget the primary goal of our research. It is the soldiers we will be targeting once the drug is perfected, not the females! Yes, whoever we choose must be weakened first, take enough physical damage to be more receptive, but we are not just amusing our selves, not indulging in brutality for entertainment value, we are conducting a scientific experiment! Keep your mind on the job! And besides, the other two, they are not without their own appeal, no?"

Hans Van Hulsting had developed a slight whine to his voice. "Well, why not the smaller blond man? The last one we used, you said there was the proper reaction, but it took too long and he died of the side effects before we could truly track the progress of the serum; perhaps in a male of less bulk we could see the reaction quicker, learn more before the end?"

"Now that, Hans, is an interesting observation, most interesting. We'll see once we take another look at them. Hurry, let's be off. I want the first stage accomplished before dinner time. I have asked that they prepare hasenpfeffer mit dumplings for us. The hunters caught some nice fat rabbits in the hills below."

By the time Garrison and the others made their way down that tunnel to the gate in answer to Brigg's shout and all the commotion, it was closed and latched again. Goniff was gone.

It was hours before the explosions rocked the encampment, an eternity to those waiting there. They'd tried the lock on the gate, only to find it reinforced by broad slabs on the outside, with the engagement far outside their reach. Garrison had looked at Meghada, desperation in his eyes, but she could only shake her head, in worry and frustration. She had only one trick up her sleeve that might free her to go after Goniff, but in these narrow spaces, using that would crush all of the men with her, and probably trap her as well. She could only wait along with the rest, wait for Ainsley's arrival.

Lieutenant Craig Garrison looked down at the limp body of the man they'd pulled out of that laboratory. He looked at the marks, the evidence of a harsh beating, the panicked look in those blue eyes as Goniff looked at all of them, recognizing them, but instead of that, seemingly even BECAUSE of that, trying to pull away from them in blind terror.

He felt the nausea overwhelm him, felt the rage surge forth, threatening to consume everything, everyone one around him. {"Damn it, Goniff! WHY??! It should have been me! It was MY responsibility; I was the one in charge!!"}. He remembered what Briggs had told him, sheer frustration and anger making his words almost indecipherable.

"We heard them, Garrison, debating on which they'd take for the beating, for their 'experiments'. They had narrowed it down to you or Chief or him. And his eyes, damn it, he understood what they were saying! I swear it! I know Ainsley says Goniff doesn't know German, and I've never seen anything that said differently! Hell, I've heard him muck up ordering a simple round of beer in the language! Well, he may not be able to speak German worth a damn, I'll not argue that, but he understood, at least enough! He sent me back to tell you they were coming; I was still at the far end of the passageway when they unlocked the gate; he taunted them, called them every name in the book, then rammed into them when they came through, threw a punch at one of them. He made sure he was the one they took, not you or Chief. Damn it, Garrison, HE KNEW!!" 

It was Patrick and Ciena who were able to provide what medical help they could; neither Meghada nor any of Garrison's team, or Briggs for that matter, could get close enough without sending the smaller man into a frenzy.

Casino raged in his frustration, "I don't get it! Why's he letting Ciena close and not Meghada? Christ! It's tearing her apart! It dont make any sense; hell, they look exactly alike!"

Chief was the one who shook his head, rejecting that. "Point is, Pappy, Ciena's NOT Meghada. WE might have a hard time telling them apart, if they were trying to fool us, but not Goniff. He might not be able to tell Ciena from one of the other women in the Clan, but Meghada? No way he couldn't tell."

Actor nodded, "yes, and it looks like whatever they did to make him fear US, they also used to make him fear Meghada. She says her people have been working on an antidote to Van Hulsting's serum for some time; we can only hope they have managed to find one," watching the muscles clenching in Garrison's jaw. He knew this could be devastating, not just for Goniff, for Meghada, not just for the team, but for Garrison in particular. For a great many reasons.

They were back home at the Mansion, Dr. Patrick O'Donnell having been joined by his brother Michael, also a doctor. Meghada and Ciena had disappeared to the Cottage, making the call for help. Meghada's voice had started tense but calm, had become increasingly loud and strained. She disconnected the call abruptly, turning to accept the tall glass of amber liquid Ciena was holding out to her, and took a long drink.

"He says he has been given the sole authority to make judgements in such matters, and he has the obligation to protect the Clan's interests. It seems using the antidote for Goniff would 'not be in the Clan's best interests, in my judgement', as Goniff 'isn't really OF the Clan, now is he, or of suitable importance in his own right for an exception to be made.' That I needed to 'pull myself together and get some perspective.'

Her voice as she mimicked Jenner's voice was prissy and arrogant. The snarl on her face, the look in her eyes didn't bode well. Jenner would pay for those words, one way or another, if she had anything to say about it, but for now there were more important things to deal with.

"What now, sister?" Ciena asked grimly, getting a grim look in return.

"What do you remember about the research facility at Homeland, Ciena? Who else might remember the layout, the security measures, any who might be willing to talk? Who do we know who WORKS there?"

There was no doubt in her mind that Ciena would help, nor in Ciena's either; Goniff was Family, no matter how Dr. Jenner saw the matter. And they pulled out pads and pencils and graph paper, and went to work. A call to the Mansion told them Goniff was holding his own, but with none of the paranoia lessening; the quiet voice shared what Van Hulsting had managed to accomplish, just why Goniff was so terrified of Garrison and the others, of her, and she quickly gulped more from her glass, trying not to be sick, burying the pain deep while she dealt with the matter at hand.

"Can you sustain him, Patrick? It may take some time to . . . Well, can you keep him stable?"

"We'll do all we can, sister, you know that. Do what you must, but I do suggest you use all reasonable speed."

They both hung up the phone, Patrick to return to their patient, Meghada and Ciena to busy themselves with finding those who had valuable information. Two of the names on that list were of particular interest, both owing a geas-debt to Meghada from the past. A call to their brother Ian completed one of the last steps, and the two women made haste to put together the tools and supplies they thought she would need. They could only hope they had thought of everything, for there wouldn't be a second chance. They each left, Meghada to meet their brother Ian, Ciena to return to the Mansion, to offer whatever help she could.

Ian had been waiting at the small airfield, caught her bag as she tossed it up to him and climbed up to the cockpit. He raised a brow at the intensity showing on her face.

"Do I want to know?"

She looked at him, square on, telling him with chill honesty, "no, Ian. You DO NOT want to know. Will you do as I ask anyway, without the knowing?"

The grin that came to her younger brother's face was reminiscent of their father, "hell, yes! I needed to clock some extra flying miles anyway!"

They'd flown, mostly in silence, stopping for refueling twice, landing finally at the small airstrip at Homeland.

"Wait for me, Ian. Don't go visiting around. I imagine I'll be eager to be on my way with considerable haste," she told him, grasping the bag she'd brought with her and disappearing into the hangar.

{"Ai, sister. Just what are you up to, now?"}. Still, he waited, smoking an occasional cigarette, sipping a little hot coffee from the thermos he'd brought with him. Waited til Meghada returned, chivying a grey-haired man in front of her at the point of a knife. He was obviously trying to protest her rough treatment, but the tape over his mouth, his bound hands and the short length of rope joining his ankles pretty much limited his efforts. Ian didn't recognize the man, but hurried to meet them.

"Meghada??!" "Quickly now, Ian. Take this box and my bag. Be extremely careful with the box! Life itself may depend upon it! Then get our friend here into the back; make sure he's all safe and sound as well. I'll keep the other bag with me." Ian hastened to do as she asked, settling the bound man into the rear of the plane, strapped him in tightly, just in case, and gently placed the box in the well-padded traveling container behind his seat, strapped it in even more securely than he had the man. Meghada was already settled in, Ian joined her, and they took off, him wondering what the heck was going on, her deeply absorbed in the file of papers she'd pulled from the bag.

Dr. Jenner was livid, both at his kidnapping and at the sheer audacity of the young woman stealing his files and the vials of antidote.

"We just made the breakthrough six weeks ago, just discovered the right proportions! There are only five doses, don't you understand that, you fools! Five doses in the entire world, to my knowledge, and it will take at least three of them to have any effect on him! That means there will not be enough if someone else needs it, not until the newest batch is ready, and that won't be for weeks, maybe longer! We have to keep them in reserve for that reason! You would waste them on him! Don't you see? You can't do that, not when they might be needed for someone more . . ."

The snarl on the faces of the most of the men and both women in the room with him was almost in unison. 

Patrick O'Donnell, Dr. Patrick O'Donnell's voice was a study in calm neutrality, surprisingly. "Someone more important, perhaps? Someone more WORTHY, in your opinion?"

Dr. Jenner pursed his lips, flushed, but nodded firmly, "exactly, doctor. I'm relieved that at least ONE of you understands." 

Patrick raised one brow, glanced over at his brother Michael, "oh, I assure you I understand, quite well. YOU understand, don't you, Michael?"

Dr. Michael O'Donnell nodded gravely, "of course, Patrick. I understand. I do believe it is our good Dr. Jenner who doesn't quite understand the situation. Here, let me explain it to you, doctor. Patrick, why don't you get another reading of Goniff's vitals while I have a little discussion with our good colleague here," placing his strong arm around the now more than a little confused doctor's shoulders, leading him away. A commanding gesture from Garrison had Actor and Casino following after, just to be sure Dr. Jenner got the full message.

Well, he'd have time to think it over, locked in that small room in the cellar; they'd retrieve him when it was time. IF they remembered; none of them were getting any younger, of course; memory loss was only to be expected at some point, especially if this didn't work. Especially when the few hours' delay might have made all the difference.

By the time Michael and the others returned, Patrick had the newest set of vitals written down. He also had prepared the first round of the antidote, triple checking the notes from Dr. Jenner's file.

"Here, Michael. This is what I am thinking," explaining the dosages, the timing, and all else. "Double-check me, please. I've done it three times, but we have no margin for error here."

Michael finished reviewing the notes, not twice but three times, just as Patrick had done. He'd then nodded, "yes, Patrick, I agree. That's the way we have to go about it."

And over a long, very long twelve hour period, the men and women waited, waited to find out if the antidote would indeed do what they hoped and prayed it would do. And at the end, the smiles that came were weary ones indeed, but ones filled with thankfulness at the outcome.

He was sleeping now, exhausted, but no longer with terror in his eyes when they'd each approached him earlier, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, said whatever words seemed appropriate depending on who they were.

The blunt, pained, "ya damn fool Limey! You aint got the sense God gave a goose, ya know that??!" from Casino meant just as much if not more than the quiet, "Goniff, there must be SOME limits to your mother hen instinct!" from Actor.

The quiet "welcome home; you made it through, brother," from Chief was followed by the "Goniff, you can't keep doing this; my heart won't survive!" whispered by Craig Garrison.

From Ciena, a fond if slightly tart, "look, brother, just how many times do you have to prove you're a hero?", though that obviously rather bewildered him, since if there was one thing he wasn't, it was a ruddy hero; he'd told them that often enough. 

From Meghada, just a light caress to his hair, a soft kiss on his temple, that look, those gold-brown eyes looking at him, begging him to understand, though he didn't know what he was supposed to be understanding and was too sleepy to ask, and a whisper, "you are the center of my universe, laddie, you always will be; please remember that, no matter what."

He'd even smiled at each of them, weakly, but a smile never the less, before Patrick and Michael had shoo'd everyone except Garrison from the room. She had petitioned for that, at least one person close by at all times, so that he wouldn't awaken alone, and only her brothers knew why it had been Garrison, not her, at the beginning. Garrison, then each of the others, including Ciena. All of them, but not Meghada.

Perhaps it had been cowardice on her part, leaving without explaining why she had to leave, why she had to present herself for judgement to the Council as ordered. Perhaps. She just knew she couldn't bear looking into their eyes, HIS eyes, saying what might be a final goodbye; after all, there was no guarantee she'd be back; she knew quite well the probable charges that would be laid at her feet. She winced, remembering that whole incident, everything involved; even for a ru Dragan, she'd rather outdone herself.

She'd left the explaining to her brothers, and she would be eternally grateful for their help in that, as well as their help in returning Goniff to health. Ian hadn't said more than a few words to her during the flight, yet his solid presence beside her had given her comfort. He hadn't chastised her for involving him in this, not once, having heard the whole story from Michael; had only said, "if it had been Jeffrey, I would have done the same. Sweet Mother! For any of them, when it comes down to it - Goniff, Chief, all of them."

He refrained from giving her false comfort, refrained from saying "they'll understand; it'll be fine." There was no way of knowing that; the Council and one other of the Elders would judge her; it would be up to them, them and the Clan. Ian would be testifying of what happened, his role, Patrick, Michael, Ciena - her siblings she had drawn into this; she would, of course, testify that she had not confided in her brothers what she was planning before the fact.

Well, it was the truth, and she didn't intend to stand before the Council with a lie on her lips. Of course, Ciena had known, but Ciena was technically under geas-debt, even though that was not usually acknowledged or enforced amongst siblings; in this case, it would provide protection for Meghada's younger sister, and she would use it as needed.

Dr. Jenner could only fume from the rear of that small cockpit, the tape firmly across his mouth preventing him from doing more than just making incoherent noises. That had been Patrick's suggestion, ignoring the indignant protests from the furious man who would be making the trip with his hands tied firmly behind his back. He'd heard more than enough from the good doctor back at the Mansion, and knew sending him back without that tape was problematic at best.

"Really, I do think it's for the best, doctor. You're going to be passing over a great deal of water, you know. Sharks, killer whales, giant squid and octopus, not to mention the fathoms and fathoms of just plain water! Hate to have your struggles, your complaints jarring that side door open. Why, that could cause a really unpleasant accident, you know??!"

His warning whisper in his sister's ear brought a reluctant smile, "I have no idea how this is going to turn out, little sister, but I'm sure you showing up with a live, if highly annoyed, Dr. Jenner is bound to get better results than arriving without him and having to explain an 'unfortunate accident due to a faulty door latch'! Not that I don't sympathize fully with such a notion; if ever a man needed a salt-water bath with some lively companions, it's our judgemental Dr. Jenner! I know we tend toward the sharks, but I really favor a giant squid for him, don't you?" surprising a low laugh out of her, before she buried her head in his shoulder for just a moment.

"Patrick, take care of them for me?" she whispered.

"Of course, little sister," giving her a warm hug.

The landing had been perfection, although the reception committee was perhaps greater in number and more heavily armed than they'd had been on previous visits. One of those greeting them hastened to remove the tape from Dr. Jenner's mouth, undo his hands and the bonds from his ankles. The spewing forth of fury at a loud volume might have made some of them wince, wondering if they wouldn't have been better off leaving at least the tape in place til they got to the main compound.

At the compound they were separated, Dr. Jenner being led in one direction, Ian in another, and Meghada ending up in what she ruefully knew to be the VIP containment area, a place of some relative comfort but undeniable security ensuring her continued presence. Oh, well, if she'd intended to run, to try and escape her judgement, she wouldn't have returned here in the first place.

She settled back, letting her mind drift over the whole chain of events, waiting for when she would be summoned. Eventually, her thoughts centered only on Goniff, then Goniff and Craig, and she wept, just a little, wanting to be with them, wanting the feeling of their arms around her, needing to feel her arms drawing them close. She fell asleep to the vision of hazy blue eyes, brilliant green eyes, and gained what peace she could from knowing that they were together.

Two days later it was, before that summons came, before her escort led her to the Great Hall, there to stand before the Council. The sight of that center chair made her swallow deeply. The Grandmother. Well, yes, this was her home; it was the home of every Grandmother once they ascend to the title. Somehow, though, Meghada hadn't considered the Grandmother would be leading the Council. Whether that bode well or ill, she couldn't have said. It seemed she and the Grandmother had a great deal in common, but then, she HAD turned down the opportunity to become the Heir Apparent, and the Grandmother had not taken that well at all. 

Now, all the questioning, all the testimony, both from her and each of the several witnesses, was done; the report of the joint mission that started this whole thing had been read before those assembled. Now, they were awaiting of the judgement of the Council, Meghada accepting, knowing the penalty, whatever it might be, was well worth it.

She did not regret her actions one little bit, was accepting of whatever the judgement, her eventual fate might be, only hoping, if she did not return, Garrison would be able to shield Goniff, or at least help him through it. {"If anyone can, he can, surely! Though the others, his brothers-in-spirit, will do all they can as well. And my brothers and sisters, our parents, all will help; they've claimed my laddie and the others as Family and won't turn their backs, no matter what happens here."} 

The Grandmother's face was implacable, her voice carefully neutral.

"While the report of how this situation came about is of relevance, particularly as to your state of mind and spirit in undertaking your actions, we, the Council, must rely on the facts of those actions to make our judgement. As we see it, Meghada ru Dragan, these are the facts. You entered this facility under false pretenses. You bypassed the security systems of the research and development wing. You now refuse, though humbly and respectfully, we must admit," pausing to give a reproving frown at the sounds of faint amusement coming from some in the audience, those who knew the Dragon quite well, "to disclose the names of any who might have aided in that process under the laws concerning geas-debt. You successfully entered various secured areas, notably the research files and the lab storage area, circumventing all security measures in place. Also, we might add, causing significant damage at at least one point."

"You copied Secure Eyes Only documents and carried those copies of the documents off site; you removed the only existing doses of an antidote developed by the research team led by Dr. Jenner. You also removed Dr. Jenner, himself, by force. We note you did return Dr. Jenner, unharmed except perhaps for his dignity, and the copies of the documents, but only two doses of the antidote, having used three doses for an individual not born of the Clan, in defiance of first Dr. Jenner's refusal of assistance, and then against his express orders."

"You also enlisted the unknowing assistance of various of your siblings for various stages of your activities. You have acknowledged all of that, without offering any excuse other than your initial statement, which has been duly recorded and reads:

"I saw no other alternative. My request for the antidote had been denied through the only channel I had been told could honor that request; I subsequently determined to obtain it by whatever means were necessary. I attempted to mitigate any damage in connection with my activities, although I was not always as successful as I would have preferred. I would plead that he is my BondMate and my friend, and thus I have a duty to consider his welfare at the highest level, but I will not deny I would have taken the same action for any of those I consider mine to cherish, mine to protect."

"Is that a correct reading of your statement, Meghada ru Dragan??" The tone was stern, uncompromising.

"That is correct, Grandmother," the young woman replied, with a deep bow.

"And do you have anything else to add, any requests for clemency?"

"Judgement is yours to give, Grandmother, and for me to accept. I ask nothing more for myself, except that my Bondmate and the others I have taken to my heart, the others I claim as Family, continue to be given the aid and consideration to which they are entitled by Clan tradition, Ashtore of one of the ru Dragan, no matter any change in my OWN status."

The old woman sat back, her face unreadable. Slowly she glanced at each of the faces of the others on the Council, seeing their agreement with what they had previously discussed once all evidence, all testimony had been presented.

"So be it. Penalty - loss of 50% of cash shares to be applied against the physical damages to the installation, in-kind shares not to be affected. Since your division is currently 25/75, it could take you a goodly amount of time to accomplish that; you have the alternative of rendering a cash payment once the tally has been made, or of increasing the payments as you wish. Payment of $1000 to repay Dr. Jenner for the time spent under your 'hospitality', payable within two weeks. A verbal apology to the Head of the Van Hulsting Research Project, Dr. Jenner - to the Head of Security, Tamaric O'Donnell - and to the Sub-Head of the Research Division, Colin Dreahman, to be given before you leave this chamber. Full disclosure, although with the freedom the law gives you to withhold any names of those who might have aided you out of geas-debt, to both the Head of Security and Sub-Head of the Research Division as to how you managed to bypass their defenses, and giving them full assistance in strengthening those defenses. Appropriate disciplinary note in your file. The apologies are to be given now."

Meghada inhaled deeply. That the penalty was far, FAR less than what she'd expected was something she did not allow to show on her face. She bowed low to those seated upon dais, backed down the steps, bowing deeply once more as she reached the bottom, before turning to Colin Dreahman, seated in the Witness area, bowing slightly.

"My apologies for any inconvenience my actions may have caused you, Colin Dreahman. I will be at your disposal to discuss the gaps in your defenses, along with my humble suggestions as to how those defenses might be made stronger."

Colin Dreahman nodded his acceptance of all that, and kept his lips from twitching at the total absence of any signs of regret in the young woman, his cousin by both birth and marriage. Knowing Meghada, there simply WAS no regret, not for actions she considered appropriate to such a serious situation; personally, he didn't disagree, thinking of his own Bondmate present in the audience.

Tamaric O'Donnell received a bow and an apology quite similar in nature, with only the addition of "and I truly AM sorry about that circuit board, though I also believe the wiring was in dire need of an upgrade and would have failed on its own before long."

Tamaric refrained from a snort of amusement, but it was not easy. And, in fact, she had come to the same conclusion after poking around the guts of that blackened circuit board after the fact, and firmly intended to have that replaced out of the general equipment fund and not bill the ru Dragan for it. As she said, it would have happened sooner or later, most likely sooner.

To Dr. Jenner, the true respect and fondness she'd shown for the other two was absent, leaving only a cold, nay, even icy look. It was significant that he got no bow, only a quick cocking of her head, not even forward, but slightly to one side, rather as if she were a large bird of prey surveying a possible dinner.

"Dr. Jenner, my apologies for coming to you with a request for aid that obviously offended you. I deeply regret the NECESSITY of my circumventing your refusal to give proper aid to one beloved and treasured by a member of the Clan - especially as the request was for one you deemed unworthy of such aid, even though he is Bonded to one of the ru Dragan, and claimed as Family by various members of the Clan. In the future, I will not distress you with such 'trivialities'. I acknowledge you have much more important things, more important people on your mind. Oh, and I apologize for the bruises to your dignity, keeping in mind just how painful those are in comparison to bruises of the flesh."

That last comment had such an odd note to it, almost a promise, though of course it couldn't have been, no matter the snickers heard from a few in the audience. Her face was grim, no smile resting there, neither that nor her words hiding one iota of her contempt for the good doctor. The odd glittering, almost a swirling in her gold-brown eyes was rather amazing, even in the half-light of the huge room.

The reaction from Dr. Jenner was explosive, his indignation over what he considered the absurdly light sentence, offering his own opinion of what it SHOULD had included, indeed his demands that it be so; his total refusal of "that mockery of an apology!!".

It would have been bad enough, though probably understandable, his yelling at the young woman who had delivered that carefully worded apology, but when he turned and continued his tirade, directing it at the seven people on the dais, the chamber, which had just experienced a few low coughs and the occasional chuckle at the young woman's words, grew totally silent, no one even daring to breathe; few people yelled at the Council, ESPECIALLY when the Grandmother was sitting at the center of the table. 

A calm yet strong voice answered him from the dais. "We do believe you have misunderstood your role in these proceedings, Dr. Jenner. Perhaps it was not explained clearly enough; perhaps we bear the blame for that."

"However, to clarify: You are here to give testimony as to events, that is all. The judging, the sentencing - that is the duty of the Council and does not fall on your shoulders."

"It would appear that you have misunderstood your role as Head of the Van Hulsting Research Project, as well. It is regrettable that you needlessly took so much additional responsibility upon yourself, a weighty responsibility we never intended you to bear. We are deeply sorry for that; it must have seemed quite unfair, the burden of analyzing and deciding on the value and relevance of requests for aid, perhaps even taking away from your extremely valuable efforts in the lab."

"It occurs to us that other Project Heads might have gotten the same mistaken impression as to their duties and responsibilities. Therefore, with the full agreement of the Council, we wish to now make it quite clear - any requests for information, for access to lab results, to antidotes - any and all such requests and others even faintly similar in nature, will not be decided by anyone except the Council. In addition, all such requests will not be made to the Project Heads, but will be delivered straight to the Council for proper consideration. The Council may or may not consult with the Project Heads as they see fit." 

Dr. Jenner was in shock, and, genius though he might be in some settings, proceeded to show the gathering he was more than a little bit a fool as well. His face now bright red, he moved closer, even daring to stomp his way up those three wide steps that separated the audience from the dais where the Council sat. Quick steps forward by the two warriors entrusted from preventing such encroachment stopped him, or at least, their crossed spears blocking his way did. Fuming, he turned and descended, went back down to the Witness enclosure and dropped angrily into his seat, livid at the whole matter. 

He had just sealed his fate with the Clan with that rudeness; challenging the decision of the Council, attempting to put himself on the same level as the Grandmother, and then turning his back on her instead of backing down those steps - no one was going to forgive or forget that; he'd been among them long enough to know better. Well, to be honest, no one was likely to forgive or forget his prior actions either; they could each and every one of them imagine a similar situation for themselves and someone they cared deeply about, and the thought of being denied aid based on such shallow judgement struck a chord deep within each of them. 

Meghada waited at the bottom of the steps, knowing this was not ended, not quite yet. There was still the possibility she might leave this place but not be allowed to return here ever after; it had happened before in their history, though it was extremely rare, almost the stuff of legend. Still, that depended on the final judgement, the one from the Clan as a whole, to be delivered by the representatives of each Enclave who had gathered just for that purpose. This judgement was not on the rule of law as delivered by the Council, but was a different judgement entirely - a judgement of her being worthy of being Clan, of being one of the ru Dragan.

She tried to steady herself, waiting, hearing that voice, the Grandmother, delivering those final words, "turn, Meghada ru Dragan. You have heard the ruling of the Council, the cost you must pay for your actions under law. Yet, the ruling of the Council is only part; turn now and receive your judgement from the Clanspeople." 

And she did, stood in front of her people, head held high, calmly waiting, accepting. And it came after a few seconds of silence. Not the continued silence of harsh disapproval, the turning of their backs to her, meaning she would have to take a lower place among her people, almost as if she were a non-allied Outlander here on sufferance; that would mean she would have to prove herself worthy to the Clan by her future actions before being fully accepted again.

Not the sharp hiss of rejection - the hiss that would mean her banishment from the Clan for this turn of the wheel.

Not even the softly whispered, 'liela', indicating she was judged as being mistaken in her actions but at the same time, forgiven.

No, it was the ululating sound for which there really was no commonly-known Outlander comparison, the sound made by the Clan to welcome a warrior returning home in victory. The sound built and built, trilling in triumph, coming first from one throat, then ten, then ten upon ten until the chamber rang with the sound, and behind her, Meghada ru Dragan heard the sound from more voices, those of the Council, including one distinctive voice, that of the Grandmother, feeling the tears fill her eyes.

That sound meant they had truly understood; she thought she would hear that sound echoing in her memory to her dying day, and for the first time since she had re-entered the Homeplace of Clan O'Donnell, she let a smile come to her face.

{"Ai, laddie, be patient. I'll return home to you, soon!"}. First she would have to fulfill her duty here, aid in closing those gaps she had used, helping with ways to make all here more secure, though that would take not a great deal of time; she'd given all of that a fair amount of consideration during the whole planning process, of course. 

Ian would bear the message, would assure those she'd left behind, "she's coming home, soon, I promise. All is well."

Of course, that led to a fuller explanation of why she'd left, a story of which Goniff knew hardly anything, and the rest of the guys only part of the story, as well as an overview of the judgement she'd undergone. As Ian and Patrick laid the whole thing out for them, their faces held a variety of expressions.

Goniff was still trying to get his head around the whole thing.

"So w'at were the charges again??! Kidnapping, trespassing, stealing all kinds a stuff including that antidote, making a right mess of their security system, blowing a couple a things up, conspiracy, disobeying orders, . . . Ruddy 'ell, Craig, they might not ever 'ave let 'er come 'ome!! You shoulda stopped 'er, not let 'er do any of that!"

Garrison assured him none of them had known what, specifically, she'd intended, just that she had SOMETHING in mind.

Goniff stared accusingly at Meghada's brothers, "then YOU should've stopped 'er!"

Patrick and Ian looked at each other, and despite a gallant effort couldn't stop the loud burst of laughter. "Goniff, it's not like she asked us our opinion either, or even let us know the specifics of what she intended, you know. And if we HAD known, had tried to stop her, she'd have handed us our heads."

The slender Englishman frowned, "still, she can't be risking all that, doing crazy stuff like that, not for me," this time provoking a sudden laugh from Garrison and the others.

Casino spoke for them all. "Yeah, right; YOU'D never do anything risky or crazy like that, would ya, ya damn fool Limey! Hell, we all know that!" and the flush that came to his pale face let them know he understood that comment, alright. He dropped his gaze, and muttered, "that's different, that's all!" and this time the laughter came from everyone in the room, except for one embarrassed Englishman.

As for Dr. Jenner? Later, once the room had cleared and he was given the nod to leave, making his solitary way back to his quarters, he found the walls closing in, shadows seeming to whisper at him, somehow threatening, echoing what he'd seen in people's eyes there in that chamber. Reaching his room, he hastened to close and lock the door, but finding his uneasiness not lessened by that action.

He worried, more than a little, about the next few months. He'd signed a two year contract, renewable upon agreement by both sides, but with a mutual dissolution clause as well. Another six months he had on that contract with the Clan. The money had been too good to turn down, although the isolation in an unknown location had been slightly worrisome, and the odd, even barbaric ways of his employers giving him some concern as well.

Now, worrisome was perhaps not the best word, and he'd just been given an even more disconcerting view of their barbaric nature; now he remembered that no one knew where he was, not his brother, no one, and Patrick O'Donnell's words, about 'an unfortunate accident' returned to him. The air took on a heavy chill, and he shuddered, reaching for another sweater. 

It was a bare week later when he found himself, suitcase in hand, on the streets of Kansas City, his home town, wondering how he'd gotten there. Even more, after looking at the date on a newspaper in great confusion, wondering where he'd spent the past year and a half. He had to have been somewhere, but where? Doing what?? The last thing he remembered had been sitting at his brother's table, drinking coffee and mulling over a few job opportunities.

Still, there was his bankbook in his pocket showing a very tidy balance now, certainly different than it had been all those months ago. Well, his brother lived not six blocks away, unless that had changed as well, so he made his way there. Any questions about his whereabouts, in lieu of any real answers, he just held his head at an arrogant tilt and responded with smug reproof, "I'm sorry; confidentiality is of the utmost on that, I'm afraid", letting the questioners come to their own conclusions. 

Soon he had a new position at a local university, delivering his lectures on the dual subjects of Medical History and Medical Ethics with the appropriate level of pomposity and arrogance that just seemed to come naturally to him. The only remaining uneasiness came from that bronze and brown feathered hawk that came so often to sit on the balcony of his apartment or at the small window of his cramped office, and stare in at him - just something about that cold gaze, the sharp tilt of the feathered creature's head, those gold-brown eyes. Frequently it also sat outside one of the larger windows of the lecture hall, but seemingly only when he was expounding on the requirements and constraints of Medical Ethics; he'd lost his place in his notes on more than one occasion under that fierce glare. Sometimes, in the right light, those eyes even seemed to glitter and swirl, although that was patently absurd. And in his dreams, that hawk seemed to grow in size, become not a hawk but something else with wings, huge and menacing, sometimes hissing at him and clacking its beak, swishing a long spiked tail.

It was soon thereafter that he applied to the Dean to retain his professorship in Medical History, but to withdraw from teaching Medical Ethics, instead switching to Romance Literature, his second major. He wasn't sure why, it just seemed best. The hawk seemed to have no interest in Romance Literature.

The team returned from a mission, one that had gone surprisingly well, not even Garrison managing to end up bloodied, to a grinning Sergeant Major and an invitation.

"She's 'ome again. You're all to come to dinner, she says; oh, not tonight. She knows you need to rest, but tomorrow night. Seems there are those from her family who've sent all kinds of special things, too, so it should be quite the feast."

And while they DID need to rest, Goniff first and soon thereafter Craig Garrison somehow found the energy to make their way down to the Cottage, to the welcoming arms they'd wondered if they would ever feel again. And in each heart, one word resounded, {"Home,"} for that is what they had come to mean to each other, the three of them. Home.


End file.
